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I received my MA in philosophy of science many years ago and currently reviving my academic interests. I hope to stimulate individuals in the realms of science, philosophy and the arts...to provide as much free information as possible.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Misplaced assumptions?

Rupert Sheldrake has researched telepathy in dogs, crystals and Chinese medicine in his quest to explore phenomena that science finds hard to explain

by

Tim AdamsFebruary 4th, 2012

The Observer

It is not often, in liberal north London, that you come face to face with a heretic, but Rupert Sheldrake has worn that mantle, pretty cheerfully, for 30 years now. Sitting in his book-lined study, overlooking Hampstead Heath, he appears a highly unlikely candidate for apostasy; he seems more like the Cambridge biochemistry don he once was, one of the brightest Darwinians of his generation, winner of the university botany prize, researcher at the Royal Society, Harvard scholar and fellow of Clare College.

All that, though, was before he was cast out into the wilderness. Sheldrake's untouchable status was conferred one morning in 1981 when, a couple of months after the publication of his first book, A New Science of Life, he woke up to read an editorial in the journal Nature, which announced to all right-thinking men and women that his was a "book for burning" and that Sheldrake was to be "condemned in exactly the language that the pope used to condemn Galileo, and for the same reason. It is heresy".

For a pariah, Sheldrake is particularly affable. But still, looking back at that moment, he still betrays a certain sense of shock. "It was," he says, "exactly like a papal excommunication. From that moment on, I became a very dangerous person to know for scientists." That opinion has hardened over the years, as Sheldrake has continued to operate at the margins of his discipline, looking for phenomena that "conventional, materialist science" cannot explain and arguing for a more open-minded approach to scientific inquiry.

His new book, The Science Delusion, is a summation of this thinking, an attempt to address what he sees as the limitations and hubris of contemporary scientific thought. In particular, he takes aim at the "scientific dogmatism" that sets itself up as gospel. The chapters take some of the stonier commandments of contemporary science and make them into questions: "Are the laws of nature fixed?"; "Is matter unconscious?"; "Is nature purposeless?" "Are minds confined to brains?"

Sheldrake is a brilliant polemicist if nothing else and he skilfully marshals all the current thinking that undermines these tenets – from apparent telepathy in animals, to crystals having to "learn" how to grow, to some of the more fantastical notions of theoretical physics. On the morning I meet him, his book is sitting near the top of the science bestseller list on Amazon. It has also, unlike most of his previous work – Seven Experiments That Could Change the World, Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home – been generally reviewed respectfully. Perhaps it is something in the air.

One of the habits in nature that Sheldrake is interested in is polarity, and if he has a natural nemesis then it is Richard Dawkins, arch materialist and former professor of public understanding of science at Oxford. The title of his book seems to take direct aim at Dawkins's The God Delusion. Was that, I wonder, his express intention in writing it?

"Slightly," he suggests. But the title was really his publisher's idea. "It is dealing with a much bigger issue. But Richard Dawkins is a symptom of the dogmatism of science. He crystallises that approach in the public mind, so to that extent, yes, it is a pointed title."

Sheldrake is the same age as Dawkins – 70 this year – and though their careers began in an almost identical biochemical place, they could hardly have ended up further apart. If Sheldrake's ideas could be boiled down to a sentence, you might borrow one from Hamlet: "There are more things in heaven and earth, Richard, than are dreamt of in your philosophy…"

"What we have in common," Sheldrake says, "is that we are both certain that evolution is the central feature of nature. But I would say his theory of evolution stops at biology. When it comes to cosmology, for example, he has little to say. I would take the evolutionary principle there, too. I think that the 'laws of nature' are also prone to evolve; I think they are more like habits than laws. Much of what we are beginning to understand is that they clearly have evolved differently in different parts of the universe."

Sheldrake talks a good deal of the fact that, as all good Brian Cox viewers know, 83% of the universe is now thought to be "dark matter" and subject to "dark energy" forces that "nothing in our science can begin to explain".

Despite this, he suggests, scientists are prone to "the recurrent fantasy of omniscience". The science delusion, in these terms, consists in the faith that we already understand the nature of reality, in principle, and that all that is left to do is to fill in the details. "In this book, I am just trying to blow the whistle on that attitude which I think is bad for science," he says. In America, the book is called Science Set Free, which he thinks is probably a better title. "They were aware that if they called it The Science Delusion it would be seen as a rightwing tract that was anti-evolution and anti-climate change. And I want no part of that."

The evolution of Rupert Sheldrake, would, you guess, be a worthwhile scientific study in itself, but one for which you might struggle to attract funding. Like all heretics worth their salt, he started out in good faith, a true believer, but he has been beset by increasing doubt ever since.

"I went through the standard scientific atheist phase when I was about 14," he says, with a grin. "I bought into that package deal of science equals atheism. I was the only boy at my high Anglican boarding school who refused to get confirmed. When I was a teenager, I was a bit like Dawkins is today, you know: 'If Adam and Eve were created by God, why do they have navels?' That kind of thing."

Over a period, he found the materialist view of the universe – that matter was all that life consisted of, that human beings were in Dawkins's term "lumbering robots" – did not accord with his own experience of it. Sheldrake was a gifted musician and "electrical changes in the cortex didn't seem able to fully explain Bach". Likewise: "To describe the overwhelming life of a tropical forest just in terms of inert biochemistry and DNA didn't seem to give a very full picture of the world."

The other thing that troubled him about scientific orthodoxy might be condensed into a single word: pigeons. As a boy in Newark-on-Trent, Sheldrake had kept animals – a dog, a jackdaw and some homing pigeons. He would place these pigeons in a cardboard box and cycle all morning with them and then release them to marvel how they would always beat him home. Newark happened to be a hub of pigeon racing. "Every weekend in the season, people would bring piles and piles of wicker baskets containing their birds; my father would take me there and the porters would let me help release the pigeons. Hundreds would fly up and circle round, then you would see them form into little groups and head off around Britain, back home. Pigeon fanciers were mostly plain working men, but they were fascinated by this mystery, which they did not understand."

They were not alone. When Sheldrake won his scholarship to Cambridge several years later, he asked various scientists how they thought this happened. The scientists talked about the sun's position and an internal clock and scent traces, but what "they weren't prepared to say was that it was a total mystery". That refusal, and others like it, troubled Sheldrake. "There is a lot of science that you can't directly experience," he says, "but to concentrate on quantum physics when we couldn't begin to explain homing pigeons seemed to me," he suggests, "a great distortion."

For a decade or so, Sheldrake kept some of these thoughts to himself, but as his career developed his doubts about the idea that "conventional, materialist" science would one day explain everything seemed increasingly wrong-headed. He took a job working at the University of Malaya on ferns and rubber trees and to get there travelled for some months through India and Sri Lanka. It was 1968 and India was a very interesting place to be. "I met people, highly intelligent people, who had a completely different world view from anything to which I had been exposed."

Returning to Cambridge, Sheldrake became interested in a notion of biology and heredity that shared close affinities with Carl Jung's ideas of a collective unconscious, a shared species memory. He was profoundly influenced by a book called Matter and Memory by the philosopher Henri Bergson. "When I discovered Bergson's idea that memory is not stored in the brain but that it is a relation in time, not in space, I realised that there might potentially be a memory principle in nature that would solve the problem I was wrestling with."

In 1974, Sheldrake returned to south-east Asia and took a job at an agricultural institute near Hyderabad developing new varieties and cropping systems in chickpeas. "By day, I was working on these practical things," he recalls, "but in the evening I was reading a lot about crystallography and the philosophy of form." He had become friendly with an eccentric woman called Helen Spurway, widow of JBS Haldane, the great British biologist. She lived in a remote full of animals, with a tame jackal and wasps' nests in the living room; Haldane's library was being eaten by termites; Sheldrake felt right at home.

"At around the same time," he recalls, "I had some exposure to psychedelics, and that opened me up to the idea that consciousness was much richer than anything my physiology lecturers had ever described. Then I came across transcendental meditation, which seemed to give some access to that without drugs." Alongside that, to his surprise, Sheldrake began to realise that there was "a lot more in my makeup that was 'Christian' than I cared to admit. I started praying and going to church."

Did he pray with a sense of its efficacy?

"Well," he says, "I still say the Lord's Prayer every day. It covers a lot of ground in our relation to the world. 'Thy will be done', that sense that we are part of a larger process that is unfolding that we do not comprehend." By the time Sheldrake went to live at the ashram of the exiled Christian holy man, Father Bede Griffiths, he had been confirmed in the Church of South India and was the organist of St George's, Hyderabad. It was at about that time, "living in a palm-fringed hut under a banyan tree", that Sheldrake decided to set out his decade's worth of thinking about memory being a function of time, not matter, shared by all living things, that he called "morphogenetics".

Was he aware that the book would be incendiary?

"Well," he says, "I wrote it to try to find a broader framework for biology. A more holistic one, proposing the argument that the laws of nature were also evolving in time."

For the first three months after it was published, the speculative book got a generally favourable reception. But then the "book for burning" editorial was written in Nature, by its editor, Sir John Maddox, and Sheldrake's new life began, as a discredited scientist and bestselling author.

Far from refuting his ideas in the face of this broadside, Sheldrake went on the offensive. His research since then has concentrated almost entirely on the kinds of phenomena that science dismisses out of hand "but which people are generally fascinated by and made to feel stupid about". He has a long-running experiment that collects data about how dogs "know" when their owners are coming home; another is concerned with the apparently strong deviations from chance in human ability to predict when they are being stared at from a distance. He retains an interest in subjects as diverse as the mysteries of crystal formation, the efficacy of Chinese medicine, the forces that trigger migrations of birds and animals over vast distances, and the nature of consciousness.

None of these pursuits has enhanced his standing in the professional scientific community. Sheldrake is unrepentant. He cites Darwin as an example. "If you look at his books, almost all the data there come from amateur naturalists, practical breeders, gardeners. TH Huxley, meanwhile, 'his bulldog', was very much against amateurs, largely because many of them were vicars and he was very anti-religious. He wanted to marginalise anyone who saw science and faith as compatible and mutually reaffirming."

Though he remains at best a contentious figure, and to some an irredeemable charlatan, Sheldrake sees some evidence that this old opposition is breaking down, that doubt and wonder might be returning to science.

"I think one of the reasons why my book has – so far – been well received is that times are changing," he suggests. "A lot of our old certainties, not least neoliberal capitalism, have been turned on their head. The atheist revival movement of Dawkins and Hitchens and Dennett is for many people just too narrow and dogmatic. I think it is a uniquely open moment..."

His hope is that there will be a "coming out" moment in science. "It's like gays in the 1950s," he suggests. "I think if people in the realm of science and medicine came out and talked about the limitations of purely mechanistic and reductive approaches it would be much more fun…"

The imminence of Sheldrake's three score years and ten has made questions of mortality and consciousness seem a little more pressing to him. He almost came face to face with his morphic energies in 2008; speaking at a consciousness conference in Santa Fe, New Mexico, he was attacked with a knife by a Japanese paranoid schizophrenic. He suffered a huge wound in his thigh, which just missed his femoral artery. "Apparently," he says, "he was aiming at my heart and stumbled at the last moment. It certainly made death a bit more present."

Given his speculative nature, I wonder what he imagined, as his life flashed before him, would happen next?

"I've always thought death would be like dreaming," he says, "but without the possibility of waking up. And in those dreams, as in our dreams in life, everyone will get what they want to some degree. For the atheists convinced everything will go blank, maybe it will." He trusts in a more colourful future for himself. After Sheldrake shows me out, I walk to work across the heath, imagining how his dream eternity might work out: hammering out The Goldberg Variations on his Hyderabad organ, while the jungle grows around him, wondering all the time how he got here.

"Potshots from a sceptical scientist"

by

Cormac O'Raifeartaigh

February 4th, 2012

The Irish Times

THE SCIENCE DELUSION is the latest book from Rupert Sheldrake, a noted biologist and former Cambridge don. Dr Sheldrake is well known in science for his work in developmental biology, but he is more familiar to the public for his controversial views on psychic phenomena such as telepathy and extrasensory perception.

From the title, one might have expected a religious polemic against Richard Dawkins, the scientist and atheist who wrote The God Delusion . Sheldrake does have a bone to pick with Dawkins, but his concern is not with the interaction of science and religion but with certain assumptions that he believes are hampering the practice of modern science.

The writer’s main target is the philosophy of materialism: the belief that all reality is physical in nature. He argues that this philosophy is both widespread and unexamined in modern science and that it hinders progress by causing working hypotheses to harden into rigid dogma. Examples of such dogma are the assumption that the laws of nature are fixed, that nature is purposeless, that all matter is unconscious and that human consciousness is simply a byproduct of the physical activity of the brain.

Sheldrake examines these and other assumptions in detail. He gives an excellent introduction to each hypothesis, describing how it developed in the context of the history and philosophy of science. Questioning how such hypotheses harden into accepted truths, he invites the reader to consider alternative world views. Along the way he introduces his own philosophy, a theory known as morphic resonance. In essence, this posits that the fundamental constituents of nature are not matter and energy but self-organising systems that resonate with their environments.

In this world view, atoms, molecules and cells are not unconscious material but have patterns of behaviour. The author uses his theory to examine whether the universe is alive, whether the laws of physics are habits that change and evolve, whether all biological inheritance is material and whether the mind is really confined to the brain. In the most controversial chapter, he suggests that his theory can offer an explanation for disputed phenomena such as telepathy and precognition.

Many readers will find the author’s thesis fascinating, if a little far fetched. The book is beautifully written, with scientific and philosophical concepts described in clear language. Each chapter ends with a useful summary and a list of probing questions for materialists.

There are also some major flaws in the book, however. The most obvious is that much of the material that Sheldrake cites as evidence for “scientific dogma” is drawn not from scientific literature but from reviews in popular science magazines. Most scientists would argue that such publications offer only a superficial version of scientific theories and that many of the “dogmatic principles” that Sheldrake identifies are in fact open questions in scientific research.

This straw-man approach is most noticeable in the discussions of modern physics. Sheldrake asserts that the principle of the conservation of energy has become unquestioned dogma in physics; in fact, the principle is the subject of intense research in fields such as cosmology and particle physics. (It is thought to be linked to a deep symmetry of time in nature.) Indeed, Sheldrake’s discussion of energy conservation in the context of the big-bang model shows a poor grasp of modern cosmology.

Similar criticisms apply to a chapter on the fundamental laws of nature. The investigation of possible variations in the fundamental constants of nature is a thriving field of research in physics; it is not assumed that these laws are inviolable, as claimed by the author. (A good example is the recent “faster than light” neutrino experiment at Gran Sasso National Laboratory, in Italy, and the planned reruns in the US and Japan.) Sheldrake’s description of such experiments displays many misconceptions.

A second major issue is the writer’s description of the methodology of science. Instead of engaging with the views of sociologists of science such as Harry Collins and Bruno Latour, Sheldrake cites their views uncritically as support for his own beliefs. The result is a rather unbalanced view of scientific practice that emphasises the failings of the individual scientist, and understates how science overcomes these limitations using the principles of scepticism, repeatability and universality. For example, a lengthy discussion of experimenter bias fails to mention the simple laboratory procedures used to minimise such problems. (It is interesting that the discovery of anthropogenic – or human-influenced – global warming, a scientific discovery of huge importance to society, merits only one paragraph.)

The most enjoyable and controversial part of the book is the section on psychic phenomena. The writer describes many intriguing experiments that he and others have performed to investigate phenomena such as telepathy, premonition and precognition, in animals and in humans. A little research, however, shows that, in many of the experiments Sheldrake cites, the experimenters themselves dispute the results. Much of this work has been criticised by scientific bodies and remains controversial.

All in all, this is a highly original and thought-provoking book. The writer poses a clear and incisive challenge to modern science that scientists and nonscientists alike will enjoy, whether or not they agree with his conclusions.

[Dr Cormac O’Raifeartaigh lectures in physics at Waterford Institute of Technology and writes the science blog Antimatter. He is a former research fellow of the science, technology and society programme at Harvard University.]

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Poet colleague

Annus mirabilis-1905 March is a time of transition winter and spring commence their struggle between moments of ice and mud a robin appears heralding the inevitable life stumbling from its slumber it was in such a period of change in 1905 that the House of Physics would see its Newtonian axioms of an ordered universe collapse into a new frontier where the divisions of time and space matter and energy were to blend as rain and wind in a storm that broke loose within the mind of Albert Einstein where Brownian motion danced seen and unseen, a random walk that became his papers marching through science reshaping the very fabric of the universe we have come to know we all share a common ancestor a star long lost in the eons of memory and yet in that commonality nature demands a permutation a perchance genetic roll of the dice which births a new vision lifting us temporarily from the mystery exposing some of the roots to our existence only to raise a plethora of more questions as did the papers of Einstein in 1905